


Love Sick (Fix Me, Doc)

by microphoneMessiah



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microphoneMessiah/pseuds/microphoneMessiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth gets sick and it's Nurse Stefon to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Sick (Fix Me, Doc)

**01\. soup**

It wasn’t all that often that Seth got sick. Occasionally he’d get a bit of a cough or maybe a runny nose, but he generally just popped a Zicam and went about his day. No time loss, no schedule ignored.

However, there were some days where this just didn’t work.

Days like today, where he’s stuck in bed running a fever of 102 and feeling like every single form of death incarnated. A quick check with the camera on his phone and, yep, he looks like death, too. There was absolutely no way that he could do update tonight, damn. He called into Studio 8H and sorted things out (there was a pre-recorded version he had done Friday night and they could just play that. it’s no big deal, Seth, stay home; you sound horrible). And once that was done, he just had too…sit there. He had to sit there and do nothing.

He hated being home sick.

Wait, he could text some people! It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends or something; there were people he could talk to.

…Who were all at work. Text after text sent was met with, ‘sorry, you know how saturday nights get!’ or ‘can’t talk but feel better’ or ‘take ur ass to bed, meyers’. So, it was kind of a surprise to even himself when he texted Stefon and was excited to get a response of: ‘seth meyers is sick??? who’s there with you???”

At least someone cared. “i’m by myself”

His phone vibrated less than 30 seconds later. “WHAT? nope. stefon is coming over rite now. dn’t worry!! :)”

Which, truth be told, he took as a joke. Partially because he never told Stefon where he lived (purposefully never told him) and partially because it was late and this was about the time Stefon started his nights out on the town.

So, surprise number two came in the form of Stefon in his doorstep with a hot bowl of soup barreling past him.

"Have no fear, Seth Meyers!" He crowed loudly, setting the bowl on one of Seth’s kitchen counters. There was a scared look on his face as he took in Seth’s less than stellar appearance. "Geez, you need to get back to bed! What were you doing up? You’ll never get better if you keep moving around!" He pushed and pulled Seth back towards where he assumed Seth’s bedroom was.

"Other way," Seth corrected lightly, amused. "And I had to get up to let you in."

Stefon found his room and motioned for him to get in bed. “No, you didn’t; I would have let myself in.”

"The door was locked, there’s no other way you could have gotten in."

Stefon opened his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and quickly shutting his mouth. “Right. Still. Stay in bed from now on,” he huffed. “Stefon will take care of everything from now on.”

Seth snorted. “What if I have to pee?”

"Stefon will carry you to the bathroom."

"Doesn’t that seem a bit much?"

"No, not really," he shrugged. "Does Seth Meyers always ask so many questions when he’s sick?"

"No," Seth smiled. "Not really."

"Well, good," Stefon sat down on the floor next to the bed. "It’s like being on Update but without the fun of the audience." He tugged at the bits of carpet on the floor.

"So, I’m boring?"

Stefon’s head shot up. “No, of course not!” He shook his head. “You are totally not boring! It’s just fun with an audience, is all!” He fidgets with his sleeve before smiling, peaceful and soft, at him. “This is nice, too.”

"Yeah," and he actually thinks so, too. The few moments that Stefon has been there have already been more eventful than the rest of his day and really, Stefon isn’t bad company. He even brought food, which is a thing he’s yet to get Andy or Bill to do. Speaking of which: "Can I have that soup?"

Stefon’s smile stretches into a grin as he nods his head. He stands up and goes to the kitchen, coming back with one of Seth’s smaller bowls and a spoon. It’s just a bowl of ordinary chicken soup but it smells fantastic as it wafts towards his nose.

"Zolesky family recipe," He states proudly, watching Seth’s face. "This is a guaranteed cold buster; eat this, and your nose will be so clear, you’ll be able to smell Hairy Spice and his fuzzy microphone from right here."

Seth’s face blanches. “That really doesn’t sound good—”

"Shh," Stefon interrupts, putting a finger to Seth’s lips. "Just eat." And he replaces his finger with the spoon. "Come on, Seth Meyers; open up."

"I can feed myse—" The spoon is shoved into his mouth mid-protest. It’s amazingly good soup, too. The broth is fresh, the bits of chicken have the slightest roast to them and the noodles are cooked al dente. It’s quite possibly the best soup he’s had and that’s saying something since he’s from New Hampshire. Of course, Stefon won’t let him tell him this until after he’s eaten it all and drank the soup.

"Good, right?"

"Really good," he agrees, settling into his food coma. "Anyway I can get that recipe?"

Stefon shakes his head. “Family secret,” he thinks for a moment before leaning a little closer towards Seth, so that he can whisper. “Though, if you were to somehow join the Zolesky family. Like, by maybe undergoing a ceremony at an office somewhere within the city? Then, and only then, could Stefon begin to even think about parting with this sacred recipe.”

"So, I might not even get the recipe if I marry you?" Seth rolls his eyes, but his tone is playful. He feels playful, giddy even as sleep begins to tug at his brain.

"Maybe," Stefon nods. "But it certainly would improve your chances!"

"I’ll keep that in mind," he murmurs. It’s hard to stay focused on the conversation or much of anything with the warm feeling deep within his stomach.

Stefon seems to notice this, too, and prepares to leave the room. “I’ll let you rest, Seth Meyers. If you need me, I’ll be watching Real Housewives in your living room.”

And he’s about to go, Seth should let him go, when something that sounds like Seth’s voice stops him.

"You oughta stay," he whispers, can only see Stefon with half vision as his eyelids droop heavily. "It’d hurt my throat to yell for you, anyways."

Stefon looks torn and he hesitates at the doorway. “The ground isn’t very comfortable, Seth. And you can text me when you need me, I’d be right there.”

Seth halfheartedly shakes his head because he’s still more than half convinced this is a great idea. “I could use the warmth, please?” His voice is tiny, fighting against the gradual shut down of his body. It’s pathetic sounding, but that’s kind of the point and it works.

Stefon crosses the room and sits down on his bed next to him. He’s cautious with his guard up, but he’s close.

"Lay down; I won’t bite. Maybe cough, but if you’re going to catch my cold, you would have already have gotten the germs, I think."

And Stefon does, slowly letting himself sink beneath the blankets. He’s still keeping an inch of space away as if he’s waiting for Seth to shoo him away, to yell at him for invading his personal bubble yet again. But, Seth has no time for that.

Instead, he closes the distance, haphazardly tossing an arm across Stefon’s waist and pulling him into an awkward half hug. It causes Stefon to stiffen before he slowly melts into it, accepting the furnace that is his sickness and adjusting himself to fit comfortably.

"Stefon?"

"Mm?"

"Night," he breathes into Stefon’s chest, head tucked in.

"Goodnight, Seth Meyers."

There’s shallow breathing and the sounds of the city humming outside the window, the moon casting a glow through a stray window.

"Stefon?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"Go to sleep, Seth Meyers."

So, he does and he dreams of warmth, furry microphones and chicken noodle soup.

**Author's Note:**

> I was given the prompt of soup, so naturally I went for sickfic. This is mostly just silly fluff because I can't help myself.


End file.
